


Seadragon

by canaa



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blow Jobs, D/s, Double Penetration, Kink Meme, M/M, Sexual Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-14
Updated: 2011-06-14
Packaged: 2017-10-20 10:14:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/211701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canaa/pseuds/canaa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a prompt on the DA kmeme: "Hawke is a raider (either a captain or Isabela's first mate) and his ship attacks a Tevinter vessel, killing the guards and mage on board. In the brig they find a pretty elven slave and Hawke decides to keep him. The slave is broken and Hawke likes it that way, because he's so obedient and willing to please him in bed."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seadragon

**Author's Note:**

> So yes, Fenris is completely OOC in this. Couldn't be helped, it was in the request. Also the first time I've attempted Anders, so I'm sure he's quite OOC as well, but can I just say how nice it was to have someone who was actually talking _back_ to Hawke? This is probably obvious. Ah, well . . . enjoy the porn?
> 
> (kmeme link: http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/4251.html?thread=11205019#t11205019 )

Some days, it was _good_ to be a raider; the freedom of the seas, the wealth of fat, ugly merchants filling his holds, the excitement of a good battle, the ability to use his magic however he wished instead of skulking around as a dirt-grubbing farmer like his father . . .

. . . and some days, Hawke mused, were like _this_ one. The vessel hadn't been flying Tevinter colours; he'd most likely have left it be, if it had. Tevinter ships were often accompanied by mages of their own, and if there was one thing Hawke hated besides Templars, it was a blood mage, which every blasted Tevinter Hawke had ever had the misfortune to cross had ever been. It simply wasn't _right_ , the way they could turn a man's crew against him.

Hawke kicked another body off the deck, into the sea, hoping to deprive the fleeing magister of one more potential undead weapon and ran for the doorway into the ship's holds where his prey had vanished into.

He could hear shouting from the hold, and grinned to himself. Not very good at hiding, this one. With near enough stealth for a rogue, he slipped through the passages of the ship, his short staff, a favourite for its usefulness even in tight quarters, held carefully at the ready.

"Get up!" From ahead of him, Hawke heard a boot impact flesh. "Worthless, why did I go through the trouble of retrieving you? Protect your master, damn you! You can't be _that_ broken, my men only just _started_ on your punishment."

A pained moan was the only response to the magister's words, and then Hawke rounded a corner and his eyes widened. A slim- _half-starved_ , Hawke's mind corrected itself quickly -, utterly gorgeous elf lay curled on the floor of what was plainly the ship's brig. Slave-chains bound his wrists together, another chain between them down to his shackled ankles. His olive-skinned body, covered in glorious swirls of white tattoos, retained the marks of systemic abuse, and Hawke couldn't help the way his eyes hungrily devoured the bruises and the crusted blood and . . . other fluids. The magister was desperate enough to try to turn to a battered pleasure-slave for aid? Well. Hawke's lips curled in a smirk. That was beyond pathetic. The magister simply had to die . . . and conveniently, all his riches would then belong to Hawke.

Including the nearly-insensate, absolutely delectable elf, who would doubtless be _most_ grateful to find himself with a younger, more attractive master. Abruptly, the day was looking up.

A quick slash of his staff through the air focused Hawke's energy, sending a jagged bolt of pure frost to strike the magister full in the back. "You're beyond help," he laughed with a reckless smile, and strode forward. "Does this count as a magister's duel, serah? Not that it matters, ebcause I'm taking everything you have regardless, but isn't it nice that this is _formalized_ in your country?"

"You will die!" The magister hissed at him, and grabbed the slave's hair, yanked his head back, exposing his throat. In his other hand, a knife appeared, seized from the folds of his robe.

Hawke darted forward quickly, his speed bouyed by his magic, and broke the magister's other wrist with one sharp snap of his staff. The blade the old man held dropped to the floor as he cried out, and Hawke smirked. "Ah, ah- no bleeding your slave to try to fight me. Honestly, blood magic is so pathetic. You think it gives you so much power, but all it does is bind you to one way of magic. It's what you blasted magisters always turn to, even when there's so many other _useful_ things one can use magic for." He winked at the slave. "And _delightful_ things." Perhaps it was wasted; the slave didn't seem to be a very appreciative audience at the moment, confused and in pain, but Hawke couldn't help it. He was a showman at heart, which was one reason he'd gone into the pirate business. Being a mage _and_ a showoff only worked out well in a very few job categories.

Unfortunately, showing off also gave the magister time to collect himself, and Hawke stumbled as whispering horrors began to fill his mind; but he knew this trick himself and with a grunt of effort, he blocked them out, then mustered himself and threw a blast of entropic energy at the magister, draining his feeble bones and muscles of their vital energy. It was the final straw for the already-injured old man; with a faint cry, he crumpled to the wooden planks, and Hawke's staff finished him, the short, lethal blade on the end stabbing efficiently through his neck.

And with that, the fight was essentially over. The remainders of the Tevinter soldiers were simple enough to wipe out, now that their magister was destroyed, and Hawke and his crew soon began the task of transporting the goods the ship had carried over to their own vessel. There was a disappointingly low amount of coin, only a small chest of golds, but the ship was rich in luxury goods, and of course, there was the slave. Hawke had high hopes for the slave.

Hawke had not yet unchained the elf, but he left the abused creature resting in his room, with some hard cheese and a few biscuits beside the bed so as to immediately begin the process of feeding him back up while Hawke oversaw the looting of the Tevinter ship. As pretty as the slave was now, with proper meat covering his bones, he would be _stunning_. Hawke was already contemplating the way the supple elven man would feel, the softness of his flesh and the tightness-

-but that was getting a bit ahead of himself. First, he had to ensure the slave would cooperate, and then, get him clean. Attractive as the elf might be when covered in semen, Hawke could do without the dried traces of other men. His own, now - ah, _there_ was a thought, rubbing his seed into the elf's dusky flesh . . .

 _Mind back on task,_ Hawke reminded himself, but the moment the last of the looted goods were stored away, the Tevinter ship cut adrift and his crew rewarded for their bravery with extra rations of rum, he retreated to his cabin with a bucket of water and a few cloths, and a request to the cook for bottle of wine and some fruit to be delivered later.

After an hour or two of peaceful rest and, Hawke noted absently, half the cheese and one biscuit inside him, the slave seemed to have regained a bit of equilibrium. He draw the blanket he had been given about himself and watched Hawke closely as the apostate raider entered the cabin.

Hawke favoured the slight, frightened elf with a smile. "Welcome aboard the _Sea Dragon_ ," he said gently. "I'm Captain Hawke, this is my vessel. Before you ask, yes, I am a raider, and yes, you are my booty."

The elf glanced at the door of the cabin. "You killed . . . my master?" That _voice_ ; Hawke nearly dropped the bucket as he used it to fill the bolted-down enamel washbasin set into the top of his heavy wood-and-brass washstand. The sort of voice that reached into your ears and slid warm fingers through your mind, traced gentle nails down your spine fron the inside . . . was there nothing about this slave that wasn't eminently desirable? Well, perhaps that dreadful rust-brown hair.

"If your master was the old bastard who was shouting at you, then yes," Hawke confirmed cheerfully. "Which makes you my property now. I hope you don't mind, but really, it doesn't actually matter whether you do or not."

The elf stared at him for a long moment, then beaten shoulders slumped. "No . . ." he said softly. "Thank you, Master, for doing what I could not. By law, by right, I am yours."

Hawke's smile widened. "I do so appreciate a bit of gratitude for my hard work. Cheer up, it's not so bad as all that," he said, and with a touch, warmed the water in the washbasin. "I think you'll find me a fairly undemanding master, in general."

The slave had no reponse, and Hawke shrugged. "Come over here," he commanded, and dipped one of the cloths in the hot water. When he turned his eyes back to the slave, he found himself suddenly grateful for the looseness of the trousers he wore. The lean-bodied elf crawled across the cabin floor towards him on hands and knees in perfect, graceful debasement, the chains that still bound his ankles and wrists clinking lightly with each motion. He watched transfixed until the slave reached his feet and knelt before him, back and neck bowed.

"Maker, but you're a divine sight," Hawke swallowed, then crouched next to the elf. "What were you called, anyways? I could go on calling you 'slave', but that's rather inconvenient, isn't it? Mind you, if I don't like your name, I might just change it, but if it's decent we may as well go with what you're used to answering to."

"Fenris," the slave said in that rough, glorious voice. "My master called me Fenris, his 'little wolf'."

"Fenris, hmm? All right, you can keep it. It sounds well enough." Hawke reached out and tilted the slave's - Fenris' - head up with fingers under his chin. "If I take these chains off you, will you behave yourself, Fenris? I gathered from listening that you attempted to escape the old man; while I can hardly blame you for that, I'd like to _discourage_ a similar attempt now. Particularly since we're in the ocean, and I'd hate to lose you to a shark. No appreciation for beauty, those barbarians." He held the cloth up. "As a bonus, I'll help you get clean."

At the word 'clean', Fenris' enormous green eyes widened further yet with an almost pathetic eagerness. "Please," he begged, and rubbed his smooth cheek against Hawke's fingers. "Please, Master. I won't try to escape you, I swear."

It was almost with regret that Hawke unlocked the chains, and he made a mental note to acquire a lighter, more _decorative_ set at some point. Fenris looked far too good in chains to never use them again, and something more finely worked would be a treat for them both.

When he remarked such to the elf, Fenris rubbed his freed wrists for a moment, then looked up at Hawke through hooded eyes. "You intend to keep me, Master?"

Hawke smirked and gestured for the elf to stand. "For a while, at least," he said casually as Fenris obeyed, then handed the elf the wet cloth. "Wash your face and hair in the basin; you're absolutely filthy. You can use the soap. In fact, use _lots_ of it; I don't even want to _think_ about what's in your hair."

Fenris took the cloth and looked at the steaming basin of water; for a moment, Hawke thought he might have to repeat the command, with the addition of a punishment for defiance, but then an intoxicating expression of bliss crossed the elf's narrow face and he dunked his entire head into the basin to wet it. After a long moment of soaking, he surfaced from the water and fumbled for the soap to lather his hair.

Hawke was rather _impressed_ to realize that Fenris' hair was actually silver-white, once scrubbed and rinsed and scrubbed and rinsed again, and not the dirty red-brown that he'd thought. Quite exotic, even for a Tevinter. Cleanliness suited the pretty elf; the skin of his face, though still oddly weathered for a body slave, took on a healthier shine as the dirt was removed.

Once satisfied with the state of his hair and face, Fenris turned to Hawke, clearly waiting for more instructions. "Well, the first order of business is to change the water," Hawke said, slightly entertained and very pleased, and then showed his slave how to do that, the plug that drained the basin into a waiting bucket for removal. "I'll want this filled every morning," he added. "I don't expect it to be hot; I'll heat it myself, but the water must be fresh. Unlike you elves, I have to shave every morning."

The slave looked askance at his beard out of the corner of his eyes, and Hawke laughed as he allowed a trickle of his power to warm the fresh water they had filled the basin with. "I still shave, yes. Above and below the edges of the beard; it doesn't grow in this rakish shape _naturally_."

"It suits you, Master," Fenris said, and Hawke nodded approvingly.

"Keep that up," He said, and wet another cloth. "Compliments will get you everywhere, pretty. Scrub your front, I'll do your back." No hardship, that; for all the slave had clearly been misused, there was a surprising amount of firm, well-trained muscle under that soft, elven skin. Feeling that, Hawke's eyebrows rose. A pleasure slave had no need of this sort of toned muscle. Certainly a well-cared for body, but this went beyond that. Hawke would have expected to find this musculature on a Dalish warrior, not a Tevinter bed-slave.

Not that he objected. In fact, the hard body under his hands was utterly _delightful_ as he ran the cloth over filthy skin, removing grime and leaving fresh skin behind. Covered in more of those lovely tattoos and with the feel of silk over veridium, the slave was precisely Hawke's preferred sort. Between this and the soft, limp body of a man who did nothing but lay in a bed his entire life, Hawke would take the intriguing shift of muscle any day.

It took many rinses of his cloth, and the washbasin to be emptied and refilled with clean water once again, before Fenris' back and chest were clean. After a moment's contemplation, Hawke rewetted his cloth again, and pulled the elf back against his chest, then began to work the cloth down his arms. Fenris stiffened in his embrace, but soon melted as the warm cloth soothed him.

For his part, Hawke was unsurprised to find that, like his back, Fenris' arms concealed the strength of a fighter. When he felt the slave's body go lax against him, it took a great deal of willpower - and a look down at Fenris' still-filthy legs - to remind himself that he had a task to complete, and until he did, he couldn't indulge himself.

The sheer thoroughness of the tattoos also startled Hawke. As he ran the cloth over Fenris' hands, working it between the fingers, he observed the lines running out to each finger, the curved design and three dots on the backs. Even more interesting were the calluses that covered the palms and fingers. Those were _not_ the palms of an idle pleasure slave. No amount of so-called pike-twirling would give a man those calluses; only years of the handling of an _actual_ weapon would leave a man with those.

Finally, Fenris' arms shone clean, and Hawke regretfully released Fenris to change the washwater again; the slave performed the task perfectly, and refilled the empty basin with clean water, easily lifting the heavy water bucket with those unusually strong arms.

As Hawke heated the fresh water, he looked at the suddenly quite mysterious slave who knelt on his floor naked and damp and waiting for his return. "On your back," he commanded. "Knees bent, feet on the floor." Hawke detected only the barest of hesitations before Fenris complied, taking that vulnerable position with ease.

"Very good," Hawke praised him. "You really are beautiful, you know that? The way you move is amazing." One at a time, he washed Fenris' feet; lovely, fine-boned things adorned with more of those tattoos, top and bottom alike, and the thick, tough soles of one unaccustomed to shoes, and used to walking on harder, rougher surfaces than rugs, wood, and tile.

"Why are you doing this?" Fenris' voice was quiet, bewildered. Hawke grinned as he slid the washcloth up Fenris' leg to the knee.

"Because I get to put my hands all over you," the apostate said smugly, "And because it gives me a chance to see what kind of physical condition you're in, after being starved and beaten and used. Now, You get that one free, but remember, Fenris, I _am_ your master. Questioning what I want to do with you isn't permitted."

"Yes, Master." Fenris' voice sounded resigned, and that simply wouldn't do. Hawke pinched his slave's calf muscle, right on top of a yellowing bruise.

"Say it again," he ordered. "And _mean_ it."

" _Yes_ , Master," Fenris yelped. "Yes, Master, I apologize."

Much better; the first repeat sounded strained with the pain of the punishment, but the second stretched out into a more languid, sensual tone, the apology sincere, and Hawke rewarded his slave with a fresh application of warm water and cloth, the rag washing off the dried seed of unknown, almost certainly quite dead, men from the tender skin of his inner thighs.

When he finished Fenris' legs, Hawke turned his attention to the long, slender cock between them, half-hard from the pleasant ministrations and, like the rest of his body, with a branching tattoo curling up the length. _Gorgeous_ , very nearly mouthwatering. A bit slimmer than Hawke preferred, but then, Hawke wasn't planning to let the slave fuck him. As he pulled back the foreskin to gently clean underneath, Fenris moaned, and his hands clenched into fists by his sides.

"Feels good?" Hawke wrapped the wet cloth around Fenris' cock and stroked lightly; the fabric had to be rough against his skin, but the wet heat was clearly making up for that; a slight flush darkened Fenris' olive cheeks, and his head tossed to the side, his eyes closed. "Mm, clearly."

A few more teasing strokes, and then Hawke whisked the cloth away and rinsed it. He eyed the darkly-flushed prick, thicker than he'd thought now that it was fully hard, and with an appealing curve that would most likely feel _exquisite_. He began to reconsider his earlier thought. Perhaps chain the lovely elf to the bed, unable to lift his hips, bound to prevent him from coming without Hawke's permission, all the while the mage pleasured himself on that lovely cock . . . yes, that would be something to do, eventually. There would be plenty of time to do anything he wanted with the slave. It wasn't like he would be going anywhere.

When Hawke grasped Fenris' heavy sac and began to wash the smooth, hairless skin, he found it immeasureably difficult to pretend to ignore the pitiful mewls of pleasure his actions elicited, but he soldiered on,letting the sounds wash around him and enhance his own arousal; once he was done here, he _would_ sate it.

Noble ideas of letting the slave recover first be damned; Hawke was certainly no noble.

Once satisfied at the cleanliness of his slave's privates, that no traces of the men who had used him before remained, he again rinsed the cloth, then turned to Fenris and allowed a note of command to creep into his voice. "Roll over, onto your knees."

This time, there was no hesitation. The elf turned onto his stomach immediately with a lithe twist of his body, and drew his knees up under himself, presenting the most delectable arse Hawke had seen in _years_ to the salivating mage.

Hawke knelt behind him and reached out, taking a globe of flesh in each hand. "I must have done something _very_ good recently," he said reverently as his slave arched into the touch, back sensually curved. With great force of will, Hawke dropped his hands and reached for his cloth again.

He hissed through his teeth at what he found when he pulled apart Fenris' asscheeks to allow a better examination of the slave's hole. Angry red lines, clear signs of infection, radiated out, and blood and worse crusted the skin around it. Fortunately, Hawke could easily do something about _both_ of those problems. At the touch of the cloth at his pucker, Fenris made a sound close to a frightened whimper, but remained in position; Hawke could imagine driving into that tight hole and hearing that same noise, feeling the same compliance, and he swallowed, hard. _Soon_ , he promised himself as he cleaned away the last visible traces, then discarded the cloth and reached towards Fenris with his inner senses, feeling the lines of power under his skin, the unhealthy sickness just inside of his torn hole.

As he reached out threads of magic to sooth that sickness, drain it away and fix the tear, Hawke's eyes abruptly flew wide. _Lines of power indeed!_. Those twining tattoos were no simple ink, they were _lyrium_. He had a fortune's worth of lyrium stretched out and shivering before him, wrapped in tendrils around the body of the most gorgeous elven slave he'd ever seen.

This one elf was likely worth more than his entire ship. Possibly including the cargo.

And he was Hawke's, to do with as he liked.

The angry red inflammation faded as Hawke watched, and when his eyes and senses together confirmed that none remained and the hidden inner tear had sealed, Hawke finally let himself scrabble for the ties of his trousers. "Turn around, but remain on your hands and knees," he ordered as he pulled his aching cock out of the opening.

His slave - _his_ \- scrambled to obey. That lovely mouth dropped open, just the littlest bit, at the sight of Hawke's hard prick, so close to his face, and Hawke groaned at the glimpse of soft, pink tongue. "Lick me," he commanded. "Just the head. Be thorough."

 _Maker_ , it was glorious, watching that mouth open wider, that tongue lick out to brush across the very tip of his cock, already leaking from the exquisite torment of holding back all while he bathed his new pet.

"Yes, Master," Fenris breathed over Hawke's dick, and then he began in earnest, tongue flashing out in quick, wet strikes followed by a long, heated drag that curled around the entire head in a line of brilliant pleasure that put sparks behind Hawke's eyes before retreating, only to be repeated.

With a curse, Hawke grabbed for Fenris' damp hair and fisted his hand in it roughly. "Breathe," he advised the elf, and then after a moment for his slave to obey, he pushed down roughly, forcing Fenris' mouth onto his prick. The elf went smoothly, no trace of resistance, and Hawke's eyes rolled back into his head at the sudden bliss surrounding him, wet and hot. "Suck," he commanded tightly. He was obeyed instantly, exquisitely, and he groaned out a curse. With his bloody rule of not sleeping with his crew, learned from the lovely Captain who had introduced him to the raider's life, it had been _far_ too long since he'd had this. A few short weeks at sea and here he was, quickly breaking under a simple - _expert_ \- blowjob.

When Hawke yanked Fenris' head up, rough and hard, the seal of lips around his cock was so perfect that the parting was accompanied by a popping sound. "I'm going to fuck your mouth, Fenris," he growled, voice hoarse and deepened from desire. "If you get a chance to breathe, take it, because this is the last time you're coming off my prick before I come down your throat."

It wasn't his imagination; Fenris' pupils flared with lust at the rough, obscene words, and Hawke laughed hoarsely. "And you'll enjoy it, won't you?" he asked. "You want my dick so far down your throat you can't breath around it, you want me to hold you there and force you to choose between swallowing or choking on my seed."

"Yes," Fenris moaned, wet lips hovering less than an inch from the slick, red head of Hawke's cock. "Please, Master, I want it, _please_."

"Please what, Fenris?" Hawke purred, and tugged on Fenris' hair, raising him another inch, watching the panic on the elf's face as he was taken further away from the treat he so desired.

"Please, Master, fuck my mouth," the slave begged in a broken voice, and Hawke rewarded him, pushed his head down again until he could barely reach the tip, beaded with precome; the desperate lips opened and took in the tiny bit he could reach, tongue flicking across the tip to gather up the moisture. Hawke tightened his fist, thrust up into that waiting, willing mouth, forcing himself entirely into the elf's throat. He ignoring the faint sound of gagging; the elf would adjust eventually.

When unbidden tears began to leak from Fenris' eyes, Hawke pulled back, only to thrust again, taking the slave's mouth with long, hard slides, hearing the gasped breaths with every pull backwards, the choking that accompanied the push of his cock back into that waiting paradise. His balls slapped Fenris' spit-slick chin with the force of his thrusts, the soft smack of skin on skin mingling with the wet, obscene sucking sounds of his slave's mouth around his prick.

"Perfect," Hawke sighed as he pushed back into the blazing heaven of Fenris' mouth and throat. "You take this so perfectly, Fenris. Maker's breath, it's like you were _made_ for my cock." The slave's throat contracted as he hummed a reply, no longer gagging with each inward thrust, and Hawke tugeed his hair. "Look up at me," he demanded. "Let me see in your eyes how much you love this."

Heavy, half-lidded green eyes turned up towards Hawke's waiting gaze, the traces of choking-induced tears still threatening to fall. But Fenris' pupils gave it away, blown wide, hot with need. "Gorgeous," Hawke groaned, and felt himself falling into those eyes, into the grand sucking heat around his prick. His balls tightened and he shoved in faster, gaze flickering entranced between his cock disappearing between hungry, swollen lips and the desperately needy eyes locked on his face.

Three, four more quick, sharp thrusts and Hawke shoved in deep, cradling Fenris' head to his groin while stars burst behind his eyes and his muscles spasmed, filling Fenris' mouth and throat with spurts of come. The convulsive swallowing as Fenris struggled desperately not to choke stroked Hawke's prick with the walls of that slim throat, drawing out the waves of pleasure that threatened to shake Hawke to pieces.

At last, Hawke released Fenris' head and pulled out, and the slave took a deep, gasping breath. Not a trace of semen stained his lips or chin, and Hawke flopped back into his ass, then pulled Fenris into his lap. "You did beautifully," he soothed his slave, stroked a gentle, possessive his back. With one hand, he reached for one of the remaining dry cloths, and gently wiped Fenris' chin clean of spit. "Amazing, Fenris."

The elf shifted and moaned against Hawke's chest, then cleared his throat. "Thank you, Master," he said, voice hoarse, roughened from the abuse his throat had taken.

Hawke cast a glance down at Fenris' lap at that shift, and smirked. "Do you want to come, Fenris?" he asked.

Fenris blinked large, startled eyes up at Hawke. "Master?"

"It's a simple question, Fenris. Do you want to come?" Hawke slipped his hand down to trace the tip of his finger lightly around the head of Fenris' hard, needy cock.

Fenris bit his fricion-swollen lower lip. "I- Yes, Master," he said with clear hesitation. "I do want to come, if you'll allow me."

"Mmm," Hawke dipped his head and nibbled up the length of Fenris' long, pointed ear. Fenris writhed _beautifully_ , Hawke was delighted to discover. "Given how admirably you performed just now, I think you deserve to. I'm guessing it wasn't something you were allowed by the old man?"

Fenris shook his head. "No," he said simply, and Hawke nodded.

"Things are different on my ship," he said confidently, and tilted Fenris' head back, ducking down to lave his tongue along that slim neck, trace the lines of lyrium with his tongue. "Believe me: follow my simple rules, and you'll enjoy this every bit as much as I will. You're too gorgeous not to watch in the throes of passion. Of course, _disobey_ , and you won't enjoy it very much . . . but I think you'll be good. Won't you?" He emphasized the question with a sudden bite at the point where one lyrium line split into two, just under the curve of Fenris' jaw, even as his hand finally wrapped around the slave's desperate prick.

"Yes, Master," Fenris gasped, his fingers scrabbling fruitlessly for purchase against the floor. "Please, Master, that feels so good."

"Mm, doesn't it?" Hawke languidly bit and sucked a trail of bruises into existence on Fenris' neck as he slowly teased the elf with trailing strokes of his hand over hot, hard flesh. "How good does it feel?"

"It feels-" The slave's voice broke, slid into a moan as Hawke's hand closed tighter. After a moment, he gulped and began again. "It feels better than anything I've ever felt. Master, I want, please-"

Hawke turned Fenris' face up to meet his, snapping his wrist faster as he jerked Fenris towards completion. "When you come, I want to hear it," he demanded. "Scream for me, so I can hear how much you enjoy the treat I'm allowing you."

Fenris' eyes were glazed with the nearness of his orgasm, inexperience with pleasurable sex leaving him unable to withstand for long, and Hawke fixed his gaze on the gorgeous face, wanting to see the moment Fenris peaked.

"Please," Hawke's lovely elven slave panted up at him, words slurred with pleasure. "Please, let me, may I, _please_ , Master-"

Hawke twisted his wrist on the upstroke, slid his thumb across the head of Fenris' throbbing cock. "Come, Fenris," he commanded. One more stroke, and Fenris threw his head back against Hawke's chest, pupils blown and mouth open in a long, deep cry while his body arched, jets of come pulsing from his dick in time with the full-body shudders that wracked his slender form. _Beautiful_.

Hawke had the foresight to catch the seed before it could make a mess on the floor, and as Fenris went limp against him, he raised his cupped hand to Fenris' mouth. Fully prepared to order it, Hawke groaned as that proved unnecessary, Fenris' tongue lapping out, cleaning the come from Hawke's hand, swallowing every bit of his own spend.

"What do you say, Fenris?" Hawke reminded him once his hand was clean, and his arms wrapped around the exhausted elf.

"Thank you, Master," Fenris said, looking up at him with eyes that held an almost uncomfortable level of adoration. On the other hand, Hawke reasoned to himself, he had just saved the elf from what was _clearly_ a very uncomfortable situation. A bit of adoring gratitude certainly wasn't out of place, and if it made the elf even more pliable, that could only be a good thing.

Particularly given that he was fairly certain now that the elf was some manner of special, magical bodyguard; it was the only thing that made sense, between the teyrn's ransom of lyrium in his skin, his sleek muscles, the heavy calluses on his palms and feet, and the now-dead magister's demands that the slave protect him.

After another moment, Hawke separated himself from Fenris and got to his feet. "The wine and fruit should be here," he said, and stretched, feeling Fenris' eyes on him as he did so. "Fetch it from outside the door, and join me on the bed."

As Fenris stood gracefully and without argument, Hawke flopped backwards onto the bed with a pleased smirk. Yes, this slave definitely seemed worth keeping.

Several weeks later, Hawke put in to port in Kirkwall; he hated the place, the way the Templars were thicker than the fleas in an alienage, but he had a delivery, and a cargo, and a chance to see an old acquaintance and perhaps show off his newest treasure.

Those weeks had been good to Fenris; the elven slave had filled out, relaxed, and proven himself both obedient, and _dangerous_.

A scant few days after bringing the slave onboard, Hawke had sent the elf out on an errand. He'd failed to return promptly, and Hawke had been forced to go looking for him, prepared to punish him - and found him begging beneath one of the more recently acquired sailors, pleading for the man to _stop, please, my Master will not want-_.

Hawke had made an object lesson of that sailor.

Afterwards, curious to see exactly how broken Fenris was, Hawke had given the slave explict instructions that he was _not_ to allow anyone but his master to use him - and permission to use force to ensure it.

It had taken a week for another to become foolhardy enough to try, after the grisly death of the first, but sailors at sea for over a month, with a ration of rum in their bellies and confronted with a half-naked, beautiful, apparently harmless elf, inevitably make rash decisions. Eventually, Fenris was found over an unblemished corpse, the trousers Hawke had given him permission to wear when outside of the Captain's cabin nearly torn from his slim hips, his face blank, and his fingertips dripping with dark red gore.

Hawke had left disposal of the corpse to the rest of the crew, led his lovely, _deadly_ pet into the cabin and cleaned his hands, carefully, scrubbing beneath the nails and along the slightly-raised lines of lyrium. Once clean, he'd slid those ruined trousers down Fenris' legs and taken him roughly against the washstand, pausing only to oil his cock. Hawke had watched that blank face closely in the mirror as he pushed quick and hard into the unprepared channel of Fenris' tight, hot arse, had smiled as the blankness dissolved into devoted need, the silence into the deep, throaty begging for _more, please, Master, I need you_ that Hawke so enjoyed.

Fenris hadn't been touched by the crew since; Hawke's first mate had taken him aside to inform him in a low voice of the sheer, terrifying quantity of blood that the dead sailor's corpse had sicked up over the man who had picked it up for disposal, despite a complete lack of apparent wounds.

"He must be some sort of mage, Captain, maybe even a maleficar," the man had concluded nervously. "I hope you got him under control, I really do."

Thinking back to the enraptured expression on Fenris' face, his moans and pleas as Hawke had fucked him, rough, deep, and viciously hard, Hawke had smirked and said with great confidence, "He's mine."

Now, docked in Kirkwall, a number of options opened up. A chance to acquire better chains, a collar, all the things Hawke suddenly found himself in need of - or at least, desirous of - and a chance to indulge in things he wouldn't permit on board the ship.

Besides, he might be something of a healer himself for the sheer usefulness of it, but he had little skill with diseases, and getting his new slave a _proper_ check-up was only the right thing to do as a caring master, wasn't it?

And so, the first stop Hawke made after concluding business was a discreet leatherworker, Fenris a respectful three paces behind him. In a matter of minutes, Hawke buckled Fenris securely into a narrow, silk-lined collar that had been quickly stamped with Hawke's name; as he tightened it about his slave's neck, green eyes slid shut with an breath drawn in, held for the barest moment as the buckle slid into place, and then let out again with the softest of moans as the lock _clicked_ shut.

The lust that small sound stirred in him made Hawke only all the more eager for their _second_ stop, which lay in the upper levels of Darktown, where daylight could still penetrate through the galleries carved into the cliff walls.

The healer, on the other hand, was not half so happy to see Hawke as Hawke was to see him. "Hawke! Didn't I tell you not to come back? It took me weeks, and money the clinic desperately needed to get the Templars to stop poking their blighted noses around here after the _last_ time-"

"Anders!" Hawke swept his occasional lover up into a bonecrushing hug. "You're looking well. Meet Fenris. Fenris, this is Anders. He's a very good healer, and he's going to check you over for, I don't know, parasites, diseases, whatever will get him into close personal contact with you."

Anders struggled against the hug for a moment, then gave in with a put-upon sigh. "What have you brought to me now? I- _Andraste's knickerweasels_ , Hawke!"

Fenris blinked slowly. "You give your permission, Master?"

"Permission, hah. I give my _command_. Let him put whatever he wants anywhere he wants." Hawke thumped Anders on the back. "Fenris was a bit of booty from the last Tevinter ship I raided. You should have seen his condition, it was dreadful, and a complete waste of his looks. He's much happier now, and you know what? So am I."

"Hawke, since when do you keep slaves?" Anders scowled at the apostate raider. "I'll look him over, but only because refusing wouldn't be fair to him - Maker knows what you've given him."

"Keeping him is a mercy, Anders," Hawke shrugged. "He's almost completely broken. He couldn't even resist being raped without an order from his master - me - to do so. If I freed him, he'd just get taken by someone else. It's a hardship, but I'm doing this for his own good."

"Your altruism is astounding," Anders said sourly, and gestured to the elf. "Sit on the table here, I'll have a look at you."

Fenris looked to Hawke, who nodded. "Do what he tells you, Fenris," Hawke said cheerfully.

Given permission from his master, Fenris pulled himself up lightly onto the table, and submitted himself to Anders' inspection. "What sort of condition was he in-" Anders broke off and made a face at the realization that he was addressing Hawke rather than the elf in front of him, treating him like an object. "Fenris, what kind of condition were you in when Hawke found you?"

"My former Master was taking me back to Minrathous," the elf said slowly. He did very little talking; this was more words than Hawke had heard strung together since he'd rescued the slave. Not that he'd encouraged much _talking_. "We had been on the ship for two weeks, at the time. I had been duly punished every day, and had very little food or water."

"Punished?" Anders scowled. "What did you do?"

"I did something very wrong of me," the slave said, in a dead voice. "I received nothing that I did not deserve."

Hawke touched Anders' shoulder, cutting off whatever the healer intended to say in response to _that_. "He had an infected perforated lower intestine," Hawke said quietly, suddenly serious. "I'm certain you can guess how that occurred. They broke him, Anders, thoroughly. If he had a spark of spirit in him once, it's gone now."

Anders twitched under the touch. "So you're a _better_ master, is that it?"

"Yes, actually," Hawke said, voice light again. "It's enough for me. How is he?"

Anders sighed. "You used to have morals, Hawke, what happened to that?" The healer shook his head. "You did a good job healing the damage you mentioned, and he seems to be clean, amazingly. I suppose that means it's time to check you, because if you think I'm going to let you infect this poor man as well as use him, you're _dead_ wrong."

"If I had anything, he'd already have it," Hawke grinned, but submitted to Anders' searching look and the gentle tingle of his magic. "As for morals, pah, I'm a _pirate_ , Anders. Morals are terribly overrated."

"I blame Isabela for the way you've turned out," Anders grumbled. "All right, you're clean. Now take him and get out of my clinic before you frighten off the people who genuinely need my services."

Hawke pounced on that opening. "But I _do_ need you, Anders," he said, slyly.

"No." Anders denied firmly. "You have your- your _sex-slave_ , and I am not sleeping with you. What are you thinking, Hawke? Hitting on me right in front of him."

Hawke looked over to Fenris. "Fenris, on the floor, on your knees."

Anders paled at the alacrcity with which the elf obeyed. "Hawke, _stop_. I will not watch you do this to-"

Hawke interrupted him. "Fenris, mouth his cock through his robes. Show him what he's turning down."

No hesitation; the slave leaned forward and nuzzled Anders' groin to the sound of an outraged shout of "What?!" from the healer. His mouth wrapped hot and moist around the concealed shaft of the prick behind rough cloth - soft, but hardening rapidly.

"Isn't he gorgeous on his knees?" Hawke leaned his hip against the table, smirking openly. Anders could not strike Fenris; the broken slave couldn't help what he was doing, following his master's orders, and unless he was _far_ more strong-willed than Hawke suspected, there was no way he'd be able to pull away. Not with that mouth clamped to his dick. "And he loves it there. Following my orders gives him pleasure. He likes it when I fuck his face, begs for it. Do you want to hear how he begs, Anders?"

"No! Hawke, stop this. Call him off and leave." Anders was sweating openly now as Fenris' mouth worked over him with throaty sounds of enjoyment. "I want no part in- oh, _Maker_ -stop!"

"Keep going, Fenris," Hawke countermanded. "Listen to him, Anders. He _wants_ to suck you. _I_ want to watch him suck you. And you know what? I think you want to be sucked. How about it? I'll even put out the lantern and lock the clinic doors while you get started."

The moment Anders caved, the _crack_ of his snapping willpower was almost audible. "I hate you, Hawke," the healer said, and very nearly sounded like he meant it. "Lock the doors, I don't want anyone seeing me- _this_. I can't believe I'm going to take advantage of a _slave_ -"

Hawke laughed. "Don't think of it as taking advantage," he advised. "Think of it as giving him a purpose. Fenris, help Anders get those robes off, he looks _much_ better naked. Then strip and start sucking." As he walked to the clinic doors to extinguish the lamps that invited clients in and throw the heavy bolts, he heard behind him the cloth on cloth sounds of Anders' heavy coat being discarded, and the soft cursing of his name from a healer who was really ridiculously ungrateful for the incredible sex he was about to get.

The loud thudding of the bolts drowned out sound for a moment, and by the time Hawke returned, the cursing was replaced with soft sounds of sucking, Fenris' skilled mouth wrapped around the head of Anders' thick cock, bobbing gently. Hawke's lust stirred at the sight, heat coiling in his belly as he efficiently stripped off his own clothing.

"I've been dying to watch him with someone else," Hawke commented idly as Anders glanced over at him standing beside the pair of them. "He's sexy enough when it's just him, or when he's on me, but I've _really_ been wanting to see those lips on someone else, and that's just not possible on the ship. I can't share him with the crew even once, or they'll think he's common property. So how is he?"

" _Illegally_ good," Anders growled. "You're a bastard, Hawke."

"My mother was married to my father when I was born," Hawke countered cheerfully, "Though I can't speak as to when I was _conceived_. Hmm. You know, I'm suddenly very glad Fenris here is a male elf, not a female. One less thing to worry about." He crouched beside them, eyes locked on the wet, stretched circle of Fenris' lips.

"Stop _talking_ ," Anders groaned. "It makes me want to hit you, and if I did that, you might tell your slave to stop, and as much as I wanted that five minutes ago, it might _kill_ me now."

Hawke laughed. "I knew you couldn't resist," he said, smugly, and reached out to trail a finger up Anders' length from the base to where Fenris' mouth encircled it. He traced that joining, then pushed his finger inside alongside the straining cock. Fenris' lips stretched wider to accomodate, the obscene sucking sounds louder as the perfect, tight seal was broken. "Andraste herself couldn't resist a blowjob from Fenris, and she didn't even have a cock. Well, probably! I could be wrong."

Despite himself, Anders laughed, as Hawke had known he would; a spot of sacrilege never failed to amuse the apostate healer. But seeing his finger in Fenris' delectable mouth alongside Anders' prick gave Hawke an _idea_ ; this was certainly delightful, but there was something else he'd been wanting to try, and there would never be a more perfect chance than now.

Well, perhaps there would, but Hawke was a great believer in seizing the moment, and so _now_ was all that really mattered.

Reluctantly, he pulled his finger out of that hot, wet paradise and stood. "Oil?"

Anders' eyes widened, and he glanced down at Fenris' tight arse as if he could already see Hawke down there, buried ball-deep. "Same place as always," he said tightly.

"Perfect." Hawke dug through the medical supplies until he found the secreted slick, the bottles clinking together carelessly. Over his shoulder, he added, "Don't come yet, Anders. I have a _plan_ , and you're going to need an erection to participate."

"Do I _want_ to participate?" Anders complained.

Hawke turned, oil in hand, and raised both eyebrows as he strode back towards them. "Oh, trust me. You do." He had no doubts both of that, and of Anders' compliance with his command; the healer, despite his grumbling, had always carried a torch for Hawke, and Hawke knew it. It came in handy sometimes.

Hawke rarely bothered with much preparation; Fenris didn't need it, and the tightness of his unstretched passage made fucking him a pleasure worth every bit of the sin it put on his soul. But for this, Hawke would make an exception. Coating his fingers liberally with oil, he set the open bottle on Fenris' back. "Don't spill that," he warned. Fenris, mouth full, acknowledged the order with a moan. At least, Hawke thought it was acknowledgement. It might simply have been pleasure; he'd been making those soft sounds since Anders' hands had gravitated to his hair.

And those moans were having an effect on Anders, Hawke noticed; the healer's mouth hung open, breath coming in short pants as he fought to obey Hawke's direction not to find release. Best to hurry, then; Hawke slid two fingers into Fenris with no more delay.

He'd have preferred to take a bit more time with this, but if Anders came, the plan would be ruined for at least an hour, and that would be far too long. Hawke scissored his fingers, pressed against that sweet spot, and watched the bottle of oil shiver with the shudder that ran through Fenris' lean frame. "Easy," he cautioned.

When three fingers slid in easily, with no resistance at all, Hawke pulled out and applied oil to his cock, then set it on the table, and leaned next to it. "Fenris, stop."

"What?!" Anders' outraged screech was worth the pain it inflicted on Hawke's eardrums.

The apostate raider smirked as his elven slave obeyed. "Patience, Anders. It'll be worth it." A gesture brought Fenris to his feet, and over to the table.

"It had better be," Anders muttered rebelliously, following the slave over.

"Mmm, _trust_ me." Hawke laced his fingers into Fenris' hair and jerked his head back, devouring his mouth in a deep, hungry kiss. The familiar flavour of Anders' precome met his searching tongue. The passivity with which Fenris accepted the kiss fired Hawke's blood; plundering was second nature to him.

Still possessing Fenris' mouth, he reached down and lifted one of Fenris' legs, bringing the knee up to his hip, pressing their hard pricks tight together. The catch and slide of his cock against Fenris' belly and the hardness against his hip was _good_ , so very good, but Hawke wasn't done.

Tearing his mouth free, he slid his other hand down to Fenris' other thigh. "When I lift him," he directed Anders, "Guide me into him." With that, he lifted, Fenris' arms around his neck assisting him, pushing down against his shoulders to help raise himself up. What a _clever_ little slave he had.

Then Anders' hand was on him, and he bit back a curse as the tip of him dipped into the slick, loose heat of Fenris' arse. Carefully, he lowered Fenris until he was seated in the elf to the root.

"How does that feel?" he asked the slave, as soon as he had breath to talk again.

"You're so deep inside me, Master," Fenris answered, voice a husky purr. "It feels good."

"Do you want more, Fenris?" It was an easy question to ask, in full knowledge that there was only one possible answer, the only answer that Fenris ever gave him.

" _Yes_ ," the slave moaned. "Please, Master, I want more."

"Oil your fingers, Anders," Hawke instructed, and shifted his grip, hooking his arms more securely under Fenris' legs. He gave a shallow thrust; this position put Fenris' mouth directly be his ear, all the better for hearing the little sound of need the movement elicited.

"Hawke, you can't mean to-" Anders swallowed, hard, eyes fixed on the joining where Hawke's cock vanished inside the taut ring of Fenris' hole. "We could hurt him, he's one thin elf, and we're two not-very-small humans, in fact, I don't know about you, but I'm a pretty good-sized human, and-"

"That's why you're going to start with _fingers_." Hawke interrupted the stream of babble. "We'll work up to the rest. Now oil your fingers. You heard Fenris, he wants more. You're going to give it to him."

At the first brush of fingers against his cock, Hawke's eyes slammed shut. Yes, this was an _excellent_ plan, but if he went off too soon, it would be spoiled.

"Hawke, this isn't going to-" Anders stopped, words dying in his throat as his forefinger pushed past that taut ring of muscle. "Oh, _Maker_."

Holding still while Anders inched his finger in deeper, pressed tight against Hawke's aching prick, was a true test of Hawke's willpower. No encounter with demons in the Fade had ever been so tempting as the urge to lift Fenris a fraction and start _pounding_ into that tight heat. "He's . . . flexible," Hawke gritted out. "Don't go too quickly, but _hurry_ , damn you."

"Oh, you don't ask for much," Anders snarked, wiggling his finger, tugging, stretching that glorious hole further. Hawke thought about the old magister, _naked_ \- ugh, that definitely helped. Maybe the 'naked' was a step too far. He turned his head and caught Fenris' ear between his teeth, encouraging himself with the elf's gasped pleading.

It was too long, at least in Hawke's opinion, before Anders felt Fenris ready for a second finger, and even longer for a third; the healer certainly had an odd idea of _hurrying_ , Hawke thought with some strain. But the tightness around his prick with three was incredible, beyond belief, and worth every second of the wait. Once Anders actually got his cock in there . . .

Hawke licked and bit Fenris' long, finely-pointed ear, relishing the hitched breaths and moaning that accompanied each nip, each soothing lave of his tongue. "Come on, Anders," he groaned. "Just fuck him already. Tell him, Fenris; you're ready."

Fenris whimpered, and shoved his arse down onto the cock and fingers that stretched him wide. " _Please_ ," the elf begged, gorgeous voice thick and breaking with lust. "I need- _oh!_ -more, please, give me more, _fuck me_ -"

With a curse, the fingers were yanked out, and Hawke felt something else prodding at the loosened entrance alongside his cock. Tearing his lips away from Fenris' ear, he peered down over the elf's shoulder. He couldn't see exactly, just the firm globes of Fenris' arse and Anders' thick, familiar dick below, but he could _feel_ as the taut muscle gave way and the head of that cock slipped in beside his to the sound of a harsh cry wrung from the elf.

"It's too much-" Anders sounded panicked, but Hawke noted, barely, through the thick fog of pleasure at the almost painfully tight paradise his cock was sunk into, that the healer wasn't pulling away. In fact, he could see more of Anders' cock disappearing as Anders push steadily, slowly in, feel Anders' cock sliding against his inside that perfect, hot sheathe.

"Fenris isn't in pain," Hawke rasped. "That's how he sounds when he's overwhelmed. We just have to give him a minute to- _nnnh_ -adjust before we start fucking the little slut." He ducked his head and mouthed along the collar Fenris wore. "Being pushed is how he feels alive, isn't it?"

The moan Fenris made might have been an attempt at " _Yes_ , Master," but it wasn't intelligible enough to tell. Still, the hard, straining prick pressed tight against Hawke's belly told him clearer than words that he was right.

Finally, eventually, Anders was fully-seated, chest pressed tight to Fenris' back, his hands helping Hawke hold the slave up. "Tell me," the healer panted, "Tell me when I can move. Oh Maker, this is the tightest thing I've ever been in."

Hawke chuckled darkly. "Getting used to the idea of a slave?" he asked, dryly. "You just called Fenris a 'thing'."

Anders' flush was quite adorable, and Hawke leaned forward to put a quick halt to whatever retort was about to come out of his mouth. "Move," he whispered against Anders' lips, then claimed them roughly, swallowing the healer's groan as he obeyed, slowly sliding out an inch.

Fingers scrabbling against Hawke's back, Fenris whimpered and attempted to push himself back down, to get that inch back, but he was held up by both Hawke and Anders now, and couldn't move an inch, completely at their mercy. And Hawke had none.

The position was too awkward to pound Fenris properly, but it was perfect for a slow, exquisite rocking of Hawke's hips; after a few false starts, he and Anders found a rhythm that worked, their cocks slipping against each other, pressing each other into the walls of Fenris' arse, the feelings of heat and tightness beyond intense. And for Fenris, too; Hawke could feel the dampness of the slave's overwhelmed tears falling against his shoulder, dripping down his back as the elf was pushed beyond the boundaries of sensation by the dual cocks working inside him. The slave cried out with little hitched sobs and the broken moans as that spot inside him was pressed against and stroked without relenting, as his stiff prick, trapped between them, was stroked by every flex of Hawke's stomach as he slowly ground in and out of Fenris' arse.

If Hawke could have remained like that forever, locked in that blazing heat with the press of Anders' cock next to his, and the healer's delicious mouth and Fenris' slim, delectable neck equally available for kissing, biting, sucking, he would have, but he could feel the tightness building in his balls, and from Anders' face, he was barely an inch from the edge of the best orgasm of his life as well.

Regretfully, Hawke tore his lips from the curve of Fenris' neck. "Fenris," he commanded, " _come_ ," and immediately sank his teeth into Fenris' soft, muscular shoulder, even as the elven slave obeyed with a scream, his body stiffening between the two humans holding him up, wet heat spreading against Hawke's belly. The sticky dampness was _worth_ it, though, worth it for the contractions of that incredible arse around the cocks inside it, pushing the two men over that edge together, spending themselves inside Fenris' tightly-gripping channel, Hawke's groan against the olive skin in his teeth mingling with Anders' gasped shout.

In the aftermath, it was all the two dazed humans could do to stay standing, but finally, Anders began to inch out first, the mingled come of the raider and the healer dripping to the floor as he pulled free. That made it simple for Hawke to slide out of the stretched, loose passage, even as Fenris shuddered weakly against him, oversensitive and reacting to every slide inside him. When Hawke slipped free and Fenris was left empty, the elf gave a keening sound of loss.

Knowing the slave's legs wouldn't be able to support him, Hawke turned and lowered him to the table, pressing a light kiss to Fenris' forehead. "You did great," he reassured the elf. "No, you were _perfect_. When we get back to the ship, you're getting a reward, lovely."

Eyes reddened from tears, Fenris smiled up at him. "Thank you, Master." The elf groped for Hawke's hand and pulled it to his mouth, kissed the knuckles and laved them with his tongue.

Anders watched the exchange, exhausted, but after a moment, pushed forward. "Let me check him," he muttered, looking to the side as Hawke pressed his thumb into Fenris' mouth for the slave to savour. "Make sure we didn't cause any tearing."

"Be my guest," Hawke smirked, tiredly, and reached for a cloth with his free hand to clean off his belly. Fenris shuddered and moaned around Hawke's thumb when Anders snatched the cloth from Hawke's hand, used it to wipe the slave's hole clean, and he pushed back into the healer's lightly-prodding fingers.

Anders snorted and pulled his hand back. "He's fine, Maker knows how. If you can call his state fine. But if you're serious, and he's just _like_ this-" Anders hesistated, then grimaced. "Better you than a lot of other pirates," he said grudgingly. "If you even consider selling him, Hawke . . ."

Hawke smiled. "Not going to happen," he said smoothly. "At least, not until I've gone through the entire list of things I want to try with him-" he ducked his head and held up a hand in a pacifying gesture as Anders turned angry eyes on him, "-which could take _years_ and _years_ , and really, I'm not sure anyone could afford to take him off my hands, anyways. I'd be completely unwilling to sell him for less than at _least_ a small island nation. I've always fancied ruling an island."

That made Anders crack a reluctant smile. "You can use my tub to get the two of you cleaned up," he said, nodding to the door that led into his tiny, cramped quarters. "I won't be reopening today. Andraste's arse, I don't think I can _move_ , much less heal people."

"Your generousity is overwhelming," Hawke said, with a mocking smile. "Before I forget again - there's a pouch of sovereigns in my clothes. A quarter of it is for you and the clinic; the rest goes to Varric, like usual, so he can get it to my mother and brother." He slid off the table and hoisted Fenris up again, the elf muttering sleepily and winding his lovely slim arms and legs around his Master to be carried. "Feel free to join us, when you're ready," Hawke added with a leer as he walked towards the indicated door. "I still have a few more ideas for things to do with-"

"Shut up," Anders interrupted without heat. "Even you won't be ready to go for a while yet after that, you lecher. And the tub isn't big enough for three. Get clean and get back to your ship, you can try those 'other things' some other visit."

"A _promise_ , is it?" Hawke laughed triumphantly, and let the closing door cut off whatever retort Anders intended to make.


End file.
